House of Shadows
by angrymadsigyn
Summary: AU, plus 18, around 1925, brothel, more warnings inside, licentious/offensive language, pairings, trios, multi, use of the names and personalities of the Marvel and Mythology characters only because they are familiar and close to your hearts. Please stay away if you can't stomach it.
1. Chapter 1

_This work contains explicit language, depictions of violence, perversions, incest (but not of the Loki&Thor kind, they are not related), murder. Please do not read if this offends you. I shall continue only if this will rise some interest. I'm open to interactive suggestions. English is not my maternal language, please point out any grating blunders. Please also point out if the warnings are not appropriate and if i should add more.  
_

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_Madame_ Frigga's _etablissement_ is the best in town. It's not only that her whores are the best selection one could ask for or that the old mansion is discreetly located on the outskirts, near the edge of the forest; it's also the variety of the activities one can enjoy in the luxurious decors. One can have dinners of choice at the 'Ygdrassil' and the finest drinks; one can enjoy a cabaret show or a private dance; one can choose one of the house's own employees or bring along one's own escort; any perversity, vice, kink that won't lead to severe damage or death will most certainly be contented here… if one can afford it because it is also the most expensive place of the sorts. It's also internationally famous and has seen some illustrious faces crossing its threshold and revisiting most of the times.

The police will never search the house without forewarning, because it has its own benefits and because of the city notables' support. The local law enforcement also knows that _Madame_ Frigga has her own ethics; she will never allow strong drugs in her house, children under the age of thirteen and hard core torture.

When one first meets _Madame_, she seems a real haughty lady, from the tips of her toes to the highest perfectly styled lock on her head. She didn't allow herself to grow old the ugly way. She's in her mid fifties, but she looks like early forties. She has tobacco blond hair, ashen eyes, a smooth face and wears make-up and outfits in great taste. Her perfect figure is the object of envy for many younger women in town.

When one comes to know her better, she is quite a character. She has this thing about ancient Germanic mythology, hence the names and references. She likes to think of her 'protégées' as her children, she loves them all in her own peculiar way and most of them appreciate that and love her back. She's also quite severe regarding the rules of the house, both for her 'protégées' and employees, as for the customers. She is the absolute Queen Mother of 'Ygdrassil' and rules with a hand of steel in a silken glove.

There are fifteen pages in the photo album at the reception. Each page is dedicated to one of the 'stars'. The order in the album is given by how successful each one is in attracting clients and their money. The first pages are for the less productive. The last pages are for the best. Some of them also perform cabaret numbers. They are exempted from house duties and allowed to schedule their clients because of the tiring rehearsals and shows.

Gerðr has the first page. She is a pretty, shy, little thing, sweet sixteen, but not very inspiring, which she is happy about. She's mostly useful when worried fathers or friends push shy virgins into visiting the brothel. She ran away from home trying to escape an abusive stepfather. Frigga picked her up from the streets three years ago, half frozen and starved and gave her a warm home and a loving family.

Snotra is the oldest. She's thirty-four and she's on page number two. She was never a real beauty, but she masters a couple of useful techniques and has a list of devoted customers, mostly elder gentlemen, too shy to try the younger prostitutes. She is also very well educated and can sustain an intelligent table conversation any time required. She failed to find work as a governess and landed in Frigga's yard. She's also a teacher for the rest of Frigga's 'children'. Her didactic abilities go beyond those of an ordinary teacher; she also supervises the sexual skill development of the newcomers shoulder to shoulder with Frigga.

Page number three: Höðr is twenty-four, blond and cute, but unfortunately almost blind. He can see enough not to bump into walls and furniture, but details and moving figures are a blur. He always states that he's happy about it because, even if he can't see all the beauty of the surrounding world, he also can't see its ugliness. He happily accepts any vapid client because he's an affectionate young man. Some of the clients love the sightless way he touches them, mapping their bodies. He has a lovely voice and seconds the leading singers. He also plays the guitar and several other string instruments.

Sjöfn is eighteen and a nymphomaniac. She'd endure anything from a client just to be fucked. She'd take any willing person in the house to her bed, anytime, just to be fucked. Frigga keeps her on mild tranquilizers most of the time, for her own good. She's on page number four and she's really beautiful with her waves of auburn hair and brown amber eyes, pert freckles about her nose and shoulders. She came to 'Ygdrassil' when she was fifteen, of her own free will, to make a profession out of her disorder.

Iðunn and Nanna are the youngest of the bunch, fourteen and thirteen and a half. They just start to look like women, but are still not fully developed. That doesn't mean they don't attract many connoisseurs and they only look innocent. Iðunn has a crush on Bragi, the guy that writes the verses for their shows and Nanna thinks she's in love with handsome Balder. They are on page five and six. Frigga found them a year ago at the corner of a street, trying to sell their youth for a hot meal. They are runaways too, like Gerðr, stories much alike. Iðunn's hair is like spun silver, she's what is called a natural platinum blonde, blue eyes like forget-me-nots, pink pouty lips and rosy white skin. She loves apples and devours them whenever. She could live on apples. Nanna has dark chestnut tresses, brown eyes and honey coloured skin. She has a sweet tooth and her nightstand's drawer is full of candy and chocolates. The two live in the same room and sleep in the same bed, drawing comfort of each other.

Nótt is the spitting image of an African ebony statue. Her proud façade shies off the timid customers. She has page number seven. She likes to bite. She picked up the habit trying to fight off the guys in her brother's gang. He was selling her to them since she was twelve. She decided to sell herself for better money and keep some of it too. She's twenty seven now, but she could easily pretend she's seventeen. Her perfect skin and willowy body are much appreciated. She has yellow eyes, like cats and claws like one. She has a favourite customer and the others chaff at her because of it. She always pays back.

The eighth page goes to Sigyn. She's tall, severely beautiful, dark blonde with hazel eyes, more green than brown, athletic and all in all intimidating. She is an acrobat and performs an equilibrium number in the show. She could strangle a man to death with her muscular legs. She's well suited for rough sex because she can both take it and give it. She worked only as an artist at the beginning, but she needed more money to raise her out of wedlock twins, Nari and Váli. She's hopelessly in love with one of her younger colleagues. He sometimes allows her company, for "training sessions", as he calls them or "girls' times". She's happy to have even that. She's twenty nine and applied for the job as an entertainer ten years ago. She started to sell her charms after two more years.

Vár and Vör are number nine and ten. They're both Asian, they don't tell their age, never did, two porcelain petite figures with black hair and slanting eyes, masters in exotic, erotic massage involving all limbs, all body parts and most body cavities. They love to work together on customers and colleagues all the same. _All_ their clients are scheduled. They chose this life instead of a sweat shop. They declare that this is far better than a Chinese whorehouse. They teach everyone exotic tricks they picked up in China Town, like giving blow jobs with a mouthful of hot tea and all the erotic pressure points. They've been at 'Ygdrassil' for ten years now, but they haven't changed a bit. They like to help anyone in need, even 'nursing' poor Sjöfn with her predicament.

Fulla is on page eleven. Nothing astonishing: she's a buxom twenty-five years old woman and she has the biggest breasts in the house. Hell, maybe in the whole town! Even some women say they would titty-fuck her if they could. She has a pretty doll-face too, but it goes mostly unnoticed. The plentiful bosom obfuscates anything else. She worked as a housemaid. The mistress of the house had nothing against her loosen her legs for the young master. The boy had to start somewhere, didn't he? But when she caught her middle aged husband panting heavily between said legs and bouncy breasts, she threw the girl out and spread the word, so no one would hire her. _Madame_ Frigga was more than willing to offer her a job and she didn't mind her past antics. As a matter of fact she favoured them. The middle aged husband was a regular client now... and so was his son.

Baldr holds page number twelve. He is physical perfection. His body could be the most wanted model for any visual artist. He's beautifully chiseled and there's nothing too much or too little about him. His face is unnaturally symmetric and all in all he looks like the statue of Apollo, waves of golden hair onto his shoulders, sky-blue eyes and very dark brown brows and lashes. His full, red lips are the very definition of sin. He's good with both women and men, but won't accept physical brutality, so he has to gratify himself with his current place. His intelligence level isn't very high, but he's good natured and everybody likes him. He's twenty and is Höðr's younger brother. They were both born in a brothel, but they don't know their parents. Frigga knew their mother and probably who sired them too, but she won't let them know. 'Too dangerous...'she says. Höðr thinks she is just making up a story of mystery to make them feel important. Baldr isn't exactly happy to hear that.

The redhead twins, Freyr and Freyja, are the proud number thirteen and fourteen. They're nineteen and so similar they can confuse one when dressed alike. They have rusty red wild locks reaching the small of their backs and eyes so dark they seem black. Their lean bodies are androgynous, long limbs, slim torsos, round, firm buttocks. Freyja has a tinier waist and the soft curves of her hips betray her when naked and watched from behind. When looked upon up front, she presents a pair of small, pert breasts with pale pink nipples, while her brother's chest is flatter. They perform private shows as a pair, go for multiple players and toys and they don't shy away from anything that won't leave scars. They are terribly smart, terribly curious, terribly vicious, terribly in love and they ran away from a prosperous home to be together against the law. They don't care about conventions and they can't stand the thought of being separated. Their interdependence makes them vulnerable and dangerous at the same time.

And finally, number fifteen: the freak in the show. Everybody wants to see and touch him at least once. He's grown tall; very tall, six foot three. His skin hardly gets tanned, only burned, so he doesn't even try any more. The blue veins are visible through the alabaster thin layer. His hair is raven black and there is a reddish strand starting on the right side of his forehead that everybody believes he dyes, but he was born with it. He wears his curly hair long and combed back. His lips are not very full, but perfectly bow shaped. His big, shiny eyes are an impossible jade green, shadowed by long, dark lashes. He neatly plucks his brows and he doesn't stand body hair on him. He looks like a dancer and that's what he is, supple, almost thin, but broad shouldered and showing well defined muscles. He has small shell-shaped ears, pierced in many places, prominent cheekbones and long, graceful neck and limbs.

Why is he a freak? That is revealed when he's naked and spreads his thighs. He's got a nice, normal penis, even impressive compared to the average, but that's not all. His sack is split in two, creating the external folds of a vulva and his cock starts right from the place where a normal cunt presents a clit. He's got everything else: the small labia, pink and wet, the vagina, but a physician told him his uterus is infantile, not fit to carry a pregnancy, and that he has only one more or less functional ovary. The testicles are fine, but only surgery could bring them together. It's too risky, the doctor tells him, too many complications and, since there's no immediate danger of a pregnancy, he gives up the idea. The Asian duo provides herbs to keep the danger away and there are also other contraceptive methods he learned of. Anyway, he believes he's making more money as a hermaphrodite than if he were plain gendered.

He's the only one Frigga paid for. She bought him from a band of gypsies when he was ten and belly-dancing to earn his living. They said they found him in a wicker basket abandoned nearby their horses when he was just a babe. They bared him waist down to show her the oddity. Frigga bargained for the peculiar but beautiful child and bought him from the gypsies. She paid for ballet and dance lessons so he became skilled in many dancing styles, but belly-dance was the most requested for the private shows. She auctioned his virginity for big money when he reached fifteen; not earlier, because he was so skinny and looking too fragile. The winner was none other than the real owner of 'Ygdrassil', Mr. Odin Borson; the richest (that being debatable in the eyes of Howard Stark, his rival in wealth) and most respected man in town (also debatable, maybe most feared...), without whose permission nothing moved and nobody thrived.

He didn't have a real name before he came to 'Ygdrassil', the gypsies called him 'Lucky', for he was lucky to be rescued. Now he's the most wanted and expensive prostitute in the city and his stage name is Loki. However, the name on his papers reads Lucky Eli Smith (courtesy to Frigga's personal preferences and lack of imagination), which Snotra soon conveys to 'Loki Liesmith', since he's the most talented deceiver she's ever met. The nickname sticks and he's kind of proud of it.

He picked up some bad habits from the gypsies; lying and stealing came natural to him, much easier than being honest. At least he was smart about that: he'd weave as much truth in his lies as to make them perfectly believable, even more than the actual truth and he would never steal something if the suspicion would lead to him; he'd usually steal small items like an earring, a cuff, a loose bracelet or a thin necklace from very drunk customers - never solid objects or pairs - or even small amounts of money out of their wallets or purses they would hardly notice in their state of intoxication... or bliss.

He never refuses gifts, no matter how puny or outrageous, accepting them with a _blazé_ and princely attitude. He stashes his small fortune in a box under a floorboard in his personal room, ever careful for his future. He knows this kind of life will not last forever and there isn't anybody else to care for him, so he takes care of himself. He never keeps much money in the box, changing it for jewellery or gems. _Madame _Frigga provides for them well enough, there's little need for extra small luxuries, but some of the girls just can't resist a nice dress or some shiny bauble, some are addicted to drugs or alcohol, so they spend their extra money careless, like there is no tomorrow. Not Loki; he indulges himself sometimes, but he always calculates the pros and the contras when doing so. He doesn't make concessions about quality, though. He always buys the best cosmetics and, even if second hand, the best clothes and shoes.

He is also incredibly fastidious. He always launders and/or cleans his underwear and costumes separately. He never borrows anything that would touch his skin intimately and never lends anything that personal. If he is in the mood, he just gives things away for good except jewellery. That can be easily sanitized. He always has cleaning means and disinfectants at hand to prepare his clients. He manages to do that without being ostentatious or offending. He has terrible memories from the past, but as soon as he became famous and sought after, he also became picky and firmly refuses to receive anyone who disagrees with his methods, never mind their money. Frigga never berates him on that.

He would never forget his first time and how ill he was after, almost dying from the infection. He'd been delirious for days and if _Madame _Frigga didn't refuse to send him to a common hospital and provided the best care there was to be found right there, in the house, he would have certainly lost his life.

Borson used him savagely, no regard for hygiene, no compassion or even common sense. He used Loki's openings in turns, repeatedly, after breaking him bleeding both ways and, since cleanliness wasn't his chief concern, bacteria attacked the injured areas in no time. As soon as the inflamed tissues started to ooze, Frigga called Dr. Banner, a revolutionary surgeon who wasn't very popular among the conservative and certainly not among his colleagues that didn't adopt new theories with ease. The little Asian girls also came up with herbal recipes and ingredients from the Chinese district. The medical procedures and loving care returned Loki to life, but the trauma grew deep roots in his brain. Luckily for him Borson never asked for his services again. Loki's hatred was so powerful that he would have tried to kill the man if he got the chance. Frigga had a hand in this too. Everyone in the house and a few outsiders knew she visited Borson, but no one found out what has been said on the occasion.


	2. Chapter 2

Thor was just going out to meet his friends for a tennis game when he heard angry voices in the lobby. There was the booming voice of his father and the musical one of a woman. He risked a peek down the stairs. His father was wearing his usual silken dressing gown and was obviously fuming, dark red in the face, like near a stroke of apoplexy. He didn't recognize the woman. She wasn't young any more, but she was well preserved, tall, blonde and elegant, with a majestic air about her. This was too interesting to miss, he thought. No woman crossed their threshold since his mother passed away, except for the servants and the wives or daughters of Borson's business partners on the rare occasions his father received.

The woman spoke low, but in the end she raised her voice a little and Thor heard:

"… you almost killed the poor child!"

"Why should I care about a filthy, gipsy whore? And even if, who'd take your worthless word against mine?" his father growled. "You'd better fucking leave my house immediately, before I personally kick your arse out! You keep forgetting your fucking place! You keep forgetting whose hand is feeding you and your fucking whores! Actually, _my_ fucking whores!"

Thor's jaw dropped. Never before in his eighteen years of life did he hear words as such coming out from his father's mouth.

"You keep forgetting some minor details too!" the woman hissed. "Your whores feed themselves and me, and they add to your wealth! You may not wish me to produce evidence for this part of your income, am I right? So you'd better watch your dirty mouth and don't even think of harming me or ever touch my Loki again, or so help me God…"she stopped abruptly, turned on her heels and left, slamming the door behind her.

Thor was in shock. He slowly backed away from the banister and entered his room, not being able to process what he just heard. He sat on his bed elbows on his knees, back slumped, looking in front of him but seeing nothing. He always held his father in high regard, even if he considered him a bit cold and unaffectionate. What he just heard from downstairs toppled every belief he had about his father. 'Income? His whores?' No matter how much he tried, the words between his father and that woman left no place for interpretation. His mouth went dry. Instead of pouring himself a glass of water from the carafe on the guerdon by his writing table, he rose and went out of his room, to the library. He opened his father's liquor cabinet and poured himself a stiff glass of brandy. He sat in the dark, finished his glass, then poured himself another one. He was drunk as an owl within the hour.

-o-

Anthony Edward Stark parked his brand new 1925 Bentley Supersports automobile in front of Borson's house. He was very annoyed because Thor was already an hour late and ruined his altogether busy schedule. Sophie called, already at the tennis club together with Natalie, Virginia, Francis, Hogun – the rich Hong Kong student -, Clint and Steve. Only Tony and Thor were missing, the latter being expected to pick Tony up, as promised a day before.

He rang the doorbell fully incensed. The butler opened and politely showed him in.

"If you would be so kind to wait for a minute, Mr. Stark, I will inquire about the young master. May I offer you some refreshment?"

Tony just flicked his gloved hand as dismissal, still angered with his friend. The butler swiftly went up the stairs.

Tony paced around the lobby, looking at the framed photos on the wall with sharp chocolate brown eyes, biting at his gloves.

The butler returned in less than a minute.

"Sir, I regret to inform you that the young master is feeling poorly at the moment and will not be able to join you."

"What? All righty, then I'll join him."

He wormed his way past the flabbergasted butler so fast, that the man didn't even have the time to protest and climbed the stairs two at a time, still wearing his driver's coat, gloves and hat. He knew exactly where he was headed, since it wasn't his first visit at the Borson residence. He entered his friend's room without knocking and stopped right in front of the door.

Thor was sprawled crosswise on his bed, dressed for tennis, shoes on and all, snoring quite loud, stinking of booze sky high. There was a toppled crystal glass by the bed adding to the stale alcohol smell in the room.

Tony's goatee connected to his bow tie. He never saw Thor really drunk. That was his prerogative, for crying out loud! He quickly recovered and scribbled a hurried note on a piece of paper on Thor's writing desk. There was nothing more he could do. He left his friend to his drunken dreams and closed the door behind him. The butler was waiting for him at the base of the stairs.

"Call Fatso for me, will you, Jarvis?"Tony said; his butler being Jarvis, all butlers were Jarvis for him.

"I beg your pardon, sir?" the man replied, raising a brow.

"Thor's bodyguard, my good man! The one with the impossible German name and a savage horde of kids, the cook's husband!"

"Sir means Volstagg… "

After a quick muttered talk with Thor's burly bodyguard, Tony jumped back in his car and drove to the club.

-o-

"Something wrong with Thor?" Natalie asked frowning.

"I'm not sure... Found him drunk as a fiddler; never seen him like that before. He used to carry the rest of us home, not the other way around." Tony answered taking off his hat and running absent fingers through his ever wild, wavy, chestnut hair.

"Not me..." Nat mumbled. Nobody contradicted her; they all knew the redhead could drink them under the table on Vodka of all drinks. The only exterior sign that she was drunk were her overblown pupils, her pale moonstone eyes seeming black then, and the stiff manner she walked.

"Is this a joke?" Sophie asked annoyed."'Cause if it is, it's of bad taste."

"Cross my heart and hope to die!" Tony followed his words with the fitting gesture. Then he described everything in detail to his sister and their friends.

"This is so not Thor! He enjoys a cup, but knows how to hold his drinks and never falls off his feet!" Francis Fandrall the Third exclaimed, as expected since almost all his statements were exclamatory. He was so taken aback that he even forgot to arrange a stray lock of blond hair gone askew about his forehead.

"Most intriguing... We will have to wait. Are we changing our initial plans?" Hogun asked, ever pragmatic.

"I quite lost my impetus for tennis..." Virginia mumbled.

"Yes, we've been wasting our time for two hours now." Steve said. "He could've at least called."

"Let's go see a movie!"

"Cliiiint! We've already seen all this week's new movies!" Virginia wailed.

"Dancing?" Francis dared.

"Dancing without Thor?!" Sophie yelled.

The three young women attacked him with their purses shouting epithets at him. A dancing evening would not do without the best partner they ever had.

-o-

Tony invited them all to another boring games evening at the Stark house. Their mother was long gone, a cancer eating her away from her beloved children, and their father was presently attending some science expo in Paris. Howard never minded his children's business very much, so they had mostly each other to rely on and too much freedom on their hands.

Tony and Sif (she was born when he wasn't three yet and he couldn't articulate her name correctly) had gone through a very confused period of their lives, trying to get over their mother's death and their father's lack of affection and attention, Tony resorting to drugs, alcohol and debauchery, Sophie exhausting herself with sports and consuming men like crackers... until they met Natalie and Clint.

There was an odd couple if any! Natalie Romanoff was, apparently, the rich heiress of some Russian princeling, or duke, or something, or so she claimed, and Clint used to be a circus artist before he met her. He fell in love with her at first sight during a show, when he invited her on stage to participate in his target shooting number. She refused to be blindfolded and she never flinched while his arrows flew at her and embedded themselves in the wooden board behind her... neither when he threw knives... nor when he threw axes. In the madness of a moment he took her in his arms and kissed her passionately right there on the stage at the end of his number. She immediately asked him to leave the circus and travel with her. Whatever the truth was about her, Clint never told. He followed her lead, like a devoted slave, but no one else was allowed to boss him around.

The couple took seriously to rescue Tony and Sif and they did it. Nobody ever doubted that they would. After setting things better they kept on traveling from time to time, but always came back to their friends. Tony noticed that the times Natalie and Clint were off to somewhere, there were news of jewellery and art thefts around the world, but he never voiced any suspicion. It wasn't his concern. They were his friends and he loved them.

As a matter of fact he loved all his friends: Francis Fandrall the Third with his ridiculous imperial blond beard and all his snobbish mannerisms, with whom he was acquainted since their nannies were pushing their baby buggies through the park; Steve Rogers, the poor but proud boy of Irish and Italian parentage, with clear cornflower eyes and righteous soul he befriended during their military term; Virginia Potts, slender as a needle and sharp as one, school comrade of his sister, whom he secretly adored; Hogun T'chung, square jawed, slanted black eyed, already naturalized through all the schools he attended... and Thor, lonely son of a cold and cruel father, youngest in the gang, their golden puppy, as Natalie once affectionately called him, tall and broad, towering over them all, quick tempered but big-hearted at the same time, the one they all felt like protecting in spite of his oversize athletic stature and strength.

He even loved his rebel baby sister, who was driving her own car, wearing trousers on a daily basis, drinking, smoking and swearing like a sailor, ready to punch a nose in a brawl and intimidating any man that wasn't Hogun.

-o-

Thor woke up in a terrible condition. His first thought was 'I'm dying...' He opened his eyes a little and tried to focus. It was dark outside and he could see stars through the open curtains. He rolled over and tried to get himself up. Easier said then done... He groaned and sat on the edge of the bed gingerly cradling his head. He was very thirsty, so he gathered his courage and stood on wobbly feet. He patted the wall all the way to the switch, then squeezed his eyes shut to evade the shock. When his eyes felt like functioning somewhat, he squinted and headed to the carafe. The water was warm and tasted metallic, but it helped. Then something else drew his attention: a sheet of paper out of place on his writing table. It said in large letters: _'Call when you wake, never mind the hour. T'. _He sighed and felt even worse if possible, then headed to the library to call his friend.


	3. Chapter 3

Hello readers! I'm happy you stay with me and thank you for following my works, for the favorites and bookmarks, but I would also love some constructive criticism. Couple of words won't hurt anybody, right? 333

3

"You can't just leave, Thor!" Ginny whined.

"Are you really sure about this?" Nat asked, piercing him with her pale gaze.

"Why so suddenly?" Fandrall joined the choir.

Tony was unusually quiet, brooding and rubbing his chin. Hogun and Steve were silent too, all the questions having been asked already.

"You have to tell us what happened; maybe you don't have to do something so radical!" Sif tried too.

"My friends," Thor sighed, "I thought this out very carefully. I'm sorry, I can't tell you the details, it is a family matter, but, believe me, I have to leave."

"But the French Foreign Legion?!" Clint glumly asked.

"The best place to put my mind at rest and only worry about survival. Besides, I like to train and to fight!" He turned towards Stark. "Tony, please, you promised to help me..."

"You what?!" Sif glared at her brother clearly enraged.

"I promised to help; I have connections..." Tony started

"You stupid, good for nothing jackass! If anything happens to him, it will be your fault!" she yelled.

"Don't blame him, the idea was entirely mine. He offered to help after I told him what plans I had. I would have left anyway, relying only on myself." Thor said softly.

"When do you plan to leave?" Hogun asked dispassionately.

"He's not leaving anywhere! He's Borson's only son and heir, his father won't consent to this madness!" Ginny said.

"Miss Virginia, my friends, I beg for your discretion. My father must not know of this venture of mine! I may even be rejected and come back. Please, I need you to trust me and help me! Don't make this harder than it already is! It saddens me to leave you, but I must!"

His seriousness and the dejected look in those sky blue eyes rendered them all hopelessly silent. Nat moved closer to him on the couch and hugged him without a word. Tony poured another round.

-o-

The few days left before Thor's departure were a blurry commotion, girls fighting boys over what he should take with him until Steve and Tony pointed out that they were the only ones with an accomplished military period and thus the only ones qualified to give advice. So the girls had to content themselves with buying comfortable cotton socks, plain handkerchiefs and towels and putting together a small collection of photos.

Thor had to have an accomplice in the house, so he chose Volstagg. The poor man loved him too much to betray his trust, but his wife, Hilde, caught him in the kitchen one day and pointed out that his father would certainly fire her husband for not stopping him and maybe her too, since he could suspect that she also knew about Thor's plans and then: '... what would become of their poor seven babies, huh?' Thor called Tony immediately and didn't even have to ask. His friend offered to hire anyone Borson would fire because of his son's folly. Hilde kissed Thor's forehead, blessing his heart and gave him a small silver icon of St. Michael to keep him safe.

They covered the departure by raucously planning a picnic, packing four cars and even taking a gramophone and discs along. Later they would tell Borson and the police that Thor didn't even join them, calling at the last moment that he was sick. His car was found and retrieved in the nearest seaport and Borson found out that his son may have embarked for France. He immediately hired a private detective to follow and find Thor, but, by the time the man found a lead in Paris, the fugitive was nowhere to be found any more. Only 16 weeks later Borson received a post card reading 'I'm fine, greetings from Morocco, Thor.' and Tony received a long letter, for all their friends, heavily censored, but still, the news and the photo made them happy...

Since the contract with the Legion was probably not on Thor's real name and age, Borson had no way of attacking it or even get hold of evidence that a son of his joined in. In his ire he had a mild stroke that put him to bed a couple of month and he never totally recovered, losing the sight of one eye and sitting mostly in a wheelchair, but his mind suffered no consequence, so he went back to exercise his influence over the town.

-o-

The next five years passed easy for some, tougher for others, letters and photos crossing the seas both ways.

Thor was 'lucky' enough to be enlisted very quickly due to the massive casualties in the Legion's rows because of the Rif War. He also fought, was wounded several times, was noted and awarded military honours during the last year of the same war. He was disappointed, though, and the war left a bitter taste behind because he sometimes doubted he fought on the right side. His Senior Corporal used to placate the likes of him saying: 'You didn't enlist for a just cause; you came here for the benefit of your sorry hides!' And truth it was, no matter the reasons each of them joined the Legion.

The next four years were almost free of conflicts, except for the usual brawls with unruly nomad groups. He chose not to renew his contract and was honourably discharged with the rank of sergeant.

In the meantime Howard Stark died in a car crash and, after the required mourning period, Tony started seriously courting Virginia 'Pepper' Potts and thwarting Odin Borson at any given occasion.

Sophie stilled somewhat, taking Hogun as her main lover and incessantly nagging her older brother.

Natalie and Clint were swinging between continents and even met Thor twice in Casablanca.

Francis Fandrall the Third went heartbroken because of Sif – or maybe Pepper? – and was trying out all the city's night attractions. Steve had to follow because he wasn't going to let his friend be mugged or beat more than not. He was the perfect man for the job since he had an absurd tolerance to alcohol. Tony, Clint and Hogun secretly helped. Natalie found out eventually and started to blackmail them whenever she wanted something. Sif suspected bits and pieces, but couldn't wrench much out of Hogun. Ginny knew a lot, but played clueless. The guys had to believe they had a little freedom, no?


	4. Chapter 4

4

It was Monday, their day off. The house was closed every Monday and on important holidays. In spite of their church condemned activities and her not-so-orthodox personal convictions, Frigga insisted on avoiding frictions as much as possible.

After the very late breakfast Loki called for a 'waxing session'. The suggestion was met with enthusiastic screams; they all knew they would share the dirtiest and most amusing stories, as they always did during these gatherings. Everybody hurried to collect the needed items and gathered in the large laundry room. The washing was done before midday so they had the entire warmed up place to themselves. They laid newspapers on the cement floor to catch the dripping wax mixture and placed two long wooden benches above them. Some brought small stools from the kitchen. The spirit lamps were lit, the wax was slowly melting and the old linen stripes were at hand.

Baldr was missing, as always, too proud of his golden, curly body hair that made him look powdered in gold in the light to easily dispose of it. So was Fulla, who's clients didn't exactly care about how hairy she was, or even liked her bushy. Frigga and Snotra never participated, preferring shaving instead, as did Gerðr, complaining about the pain.

They followed the same ritual for over five years now, except for the times they had newcomers introduced. Loki and Nótt would be the first to start. They both enjoyed the wax when hottest, to the brink of blistering the skin. Sjöfn and one of the twins were next, Freyja and Freyr always arguing who to go first. Vár and Vör followed, than Sigyn ad Höðr and, at last, the latest acquisitions, Iðunn and Nanna presently.

Modesty was totally useless between the members of their colourful cluster since they knew each other intimately. Loki lay sprawled on his back, hands behind his head, while Sigyn spread the wax and Freyr applied the stripes and swiftly removed them. They started at the armpits and were going down.

He was telling them about the client Heimdall, their porter and strong hand, and he himself threw out one of the nights before.

"The guy was loaded with money and was highly recommended by prince G... When Frigga gave him the album, he said 'no need, I wish to visit Loki', so she asked what services he would require. They settled on oral, normal and anal, in this specific order, since Mother knows nothing goes with me after anal. She asks if he has any unusual needs. He says he's prone to slap his partners, but playfully, nothing violent. Mother knows I'm fine with that, so he pays the fee and she suggests with a smile that, if he is greatly satisfied, he may be so inclined to gift a little something to me personally, as she always does with first time customers. "

He hisses and squeezes his eyes shut when Sigyn applies very hot wax on a sensitive spot on his chest, but doesn't move a bit. He goes on:

"So, he comes to my room and I start my routine: I help him get comfortable, offer a glass of something, strip tease a little to warm up the air... He doesn't look completely unpleasant, although he's hairy as a bear and has a nose like a beetroot, all deep craters and such. I get to the business and pull out the guy's prick. If you think his nose was ugly, than you have another thing coming! The damned thing is fucking hideous: a small purple head, like a fat rotten cherry, followed by a big, thickening down to the base, livid trunk and, woe me! The fucking thing is hairy halfway and the smell! You wouldn't believe it!" He shivers in remembrance or because Sigyn is working hot wax on his testes.

"I say to myself: 'What the fuck? He paid honestly, so, that's that!' and I start cleaning the messy stuff. He's not very happy about it, so I have to serve him the usual bullshit about me applying aphrodisiacs that will enhance his pleasure and stamina and so on. He's fine with that and watches peacefully. When my whim is satisfied it's already hard and even uglier if possible. At least most of the smell is gone. I close my eyes and do my best about it, careful to keep a hand over the hairy part. I swear to myself I won't swallow the monstrosity if my life depends on it!"

The audience is amused and giggling. Not Sigyn; she only sighs.

"At some moment he pulls my hair and stops me. That's not very pleasant and you all know I don't like my hair abused. Still, I say nothing about it. He grumbles 'bed' and I comply. He's not very pleased that I'm flaccid so he roughly rubs my shaft and fingers my cunt. I kindly ask him to stick his fingers in the body cream bowl. He slaps my face quite hard yelling 'shut it!' and takes me quite dry, which I don't like a bit, but I still say nothing. I don't wait for him to fuck my arse dry as well, so, while he's sucking on my neck and making sounds like an agonizing bull, I prepare my hole thoroughly. He takes me by surprise when he suddenly pulls out and turns me face down. He's still angry that I don't share his excitement, so he thinks to punish me. He plunges in brutally and spanks my buttocks grunting niceties like 'ungrateful whore', 'I'll make you scream', 'I'll fuck you through and through', nothing I haven't heard before. Quite boring... "

Frey gestures him to turn on his belly, since the front is ready. Loki does and goes on.

"I whimper a little for his benefit, squeeze my muscles and say 'yes, fuck me good, you big bear!' Now, instead of being pleased and spill like a decent person, he wants to play swap holes. Of course I squirm and shove him off. 'What the hell are you doing? This wasn't the deal!' I shout. He's deeply displeased and hits me hard. I'm on my back, dizzy for a second and he is trying to take advantage and fuck my mouth again. That does it! I grab my blade from under the pillow and his ugly, motherfucking cock. He freezes. I smile. 'You draw that ribbon, darling...' I say, sweetly, pointing it to him, and he does. Heimdall comes running and so does Frigga, of course. My left cheekbone is already becoming the loveliest dark purple and the picture doesn't really need any explanation. I release the – hopefully - most hideous rod I'll ever meet; Frigga gathers his garb and hisses: 'you're lucky I allow you to get dressed!' and Heimdall only growls and points his _big_ gun at the poor sod. If he didn't disfigure me, I'd have almost felt pity for the guy. He menaces loudly once he's out the house, but the chief of police is enjoying his dinner off our lovely Sigyn here just then. He opens the window and calls for the agent waiting in the car to drive him home. The man comes out in the light ominously and the jackass runs to his automobile and disappears in a cloud of smoke, never to be seen around again. And they lived happily ever after." He finishes, making most of the others laugh.

He's standing now, while Sigyn cleans the traces of wax off him with a mix of turpentine and some other oils. Freyja eyes him maliciously and says:

"What about the best story of all, the one you never told, The Fabulous Tale of the Deflowering of Loki Silvertongue?"

Loki freezes instantly. He lowers his chin and his lips become a thin red thread that curves up like a sickle. His eyes shoot icy green flickers at the she-twin while her appalled brother noiselessly mouths 'what the fuck?' at her behind Loki's back.

"Wouldn't you like to hear that one, now?" he says, voice thick and sweet, like honey. "When your death wish overwhelms you, come to me and I'll tell you that story!" he spits and leaves the room not bothering to put his bath robe back on.

"What the hell possessed you, Freyja?" Sigyn shouts at her and then so do Nótt, Vár and Vör and even her own brother.

"What?! He's such an arrogant asshole! He acts as if he were better than us! Let me tell you this: he's just another whore and that's it!" Freyja shouts back.

"You're jealous he's the best here, you bitch!" Nótt hisses at her, looking ready to sink her tusks in her milky neck.

Freyr knows a little more about his sister's jealousy. She was fine as long as they were enjoying Loki together, but when she once caught Freyr and Loki sharing pleasures without her being present, she snapped... and it wasn't nice to behold. She tries her best to taunt Loki whenever she has an opportunity ever since.

"You are so tiresome, sis." He mutters.

"And you are a whore's whore!" Freyja yells back, flushed pink.

He looks like he's about to slap her, but then he relaxes and turns his back to her.

"Come on, Sigyn; let's take care of you next." He says, messing up the established order.

Iðunn and Nanna know better than to stick their noses in the steaming pot, but Iðunn smirks, having the best time ever watching the show. She doesn't like Loki because he steals her favourite apples, the Golden Delicious sort, whenever he can get his hands on them and is haughty to them 'little girls'. Nanna makes a disapproving noise. She's sweeter tempered and doesn't take Loki's pranks too serious. Neither does Höðr, but then he's almost never Loki's target. He can't remember Loki ever being offensive towards him; he only makes innocent jokes that make them both laugh. Baldr is more annoyed by the trickster because he _must always_ insult his brainpower... or lack of.


	5. Chapter 5

"He's coming back!" Virginia shouts, flapping two written sheets of paper, obviously a letter.

She joins Sophie and Natalie at the small round table in their favourite coffee house, 'The Dragonfly'. Nat snatches the letter and makes a short job of reading it, then hands it to Sif.

"I'll wager there's one waiting in our mailbox too..." she mutters, eyes trailing the hefty writing.

"There are less than two weeks left! How shall we ever manage to organize a decent welcome party?!" Pepper frowns and puts her cogs to work.

"Don't worry your adorable little head over that. The guys will surely take care of it." Nat mumbles cryptically.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Sif narrows her eyes.

"If you're thinking 'Ygdrassil'..." Nat shrugs.

"Come on! The guys wouldn't! It would mean to leave us out of it!" Pepper shouts.

Natalie and Sophie both raise a brow and give her an intent look.

"You agree we can't have this!" she slams her little palm on the table. "Any ideas?"

"I've been there, several times... One can wear a mask." Nat confesses casually.

"Oh. My. God! How come you never told us?!" Pepper gasps.

"I didn't think you _ladies_ even knew of such a place." Nat scoffs.

"Really, Nat! We were not born yesterday!" Sif grumbles.

"Oh, Nat! How charmingly decadent! Could we go, just the three of us, or do we need chaperones?" Pepper huffs, clutching her fingers together, eyes wide in excitement.

Sophie too raises her brows interrogatively.

"Oh, dear! I have roused the beasts! All right, Clint will take us." Nat decrees.

-o-

"'Marche ou crève' will be home in two weeks!" Tony hollers when entering Fandrall's lounge where Steve, Hogun, Clint and their host already enjoy a glass of fine brandy, a stiff cup of coffee and the best Cuban cigars.

"Can you believe there's been five years...?" Steve says pensively.

"So, Hawkeye, you say he's even bigger than he used to be?" Tony asks, but isn't waiting for the answer."That's not good! He'll dwarf us down... except for _Francine_ here." He shamelessly snatches Fandrall's glass and downs it.

"Aggravating ass..." the man mutters and goes to pour himself another drink. "Your ego is too overblown, Anthony. You couldn't be dwarfed by a tyrannosaurus rex."

There is a small snort, but no one could swear it was Hogun.

"The man's huge! He's got arms the size of my head!" Clint says. "He collected a few scars and he looks mean. No longer the 'golden puppy'..."

"We'll give him a couple of days to adjust, _then_ we'll throw a party." Stark decrees. "We'll just have to make sure it's bigger and noisier than Borson's."

"Why not do something different? Why not a special celebration at 'Ygdrassil'?" Clint suggests. "We could check with Madame Frigga to have the best show, food, drinks and errr... _entertainment_ . You can't really have all that in anyone's home, can you?"

Fandrall lights up. "Not a bad idea at all, old chap! You can count me in!"

"I like the place, it's... _entertaining_ enough..." Hogun agrees with a small wink.

Clint is sighing inside with relief. Nat will most likely kill him... not really, but do eeevil things to him if he won't be able to manoeuvre his friends into this. He's closer to victory each passing moment.

"The girls won't like it..." Tony grumbles.

Clint's heart sinks. Then help comes where he least expects it from.

"Let them throw a small private party after Borson's. They don't have to know about our _boys' evening out_. I'm sure you'll come up with something to get away. It's not like you didn't before." Steve says.

-o-

Thor stands on deck, leaning on the railing. The wind blows his hair which he stopped cutting short about a year ago. The steamer cuts through the waves steadfastly but Thor looks behind the ship, at the foamy slipstream, without really seeing it.

He met many people in the last five years, all sorts of people, of different shades of skin and soul, each of them with different beliefs, opinions, likes and dislikes, none of them just good or bad. He lost his innocence and idealism somewhere on the road and did things he never thought he'd do or even try. He killed people, not only from a distance, but also in close combat or even from behind when stealth was needed, not only under orders, but also in tavern brawls before he was able to restrain himself. He sought to forget but he found the way to understand instead, even if he didn't agree.

He wonders what his friends would see, if they would be able to comprehend his new self. But pondering will bring him nothing now. He's made his decisions and will face the consequences.

-o-

"Loki?"

Sigyn slowly opens the door to Loki's room because there is no answer to her knocking. He's lying on the bed face down, seemingly asleep, still naked as he left from the laundry. She is certain he's pretending, but she doesn't want to upset him further. She just picks up the free side of the quilt he's lying on and covers him as well as she can. She places a soft kiss on his shoulder then retreats soundlessly.

The green silk of the quilt is wet under Loki's cheek.


End file.
